


On Earth as it is in Heaven

by jennyfly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Light Bondage, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 00:58:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11025231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennyfly/pseuds/jennyfly
Summary: Dean's stint in Hell is cut short when a coup in Heaven prompts Hell to offer a truce. Crowley, in a bid to capture power in Hell, delivers Michael's Sword to Heaven, but amid the confusion of a changing regime, the Sword is misplaced in the care of a solitary soldier whose garrison is in chaos. The soldier, Castiel, is bound by honor and duty to protect Michael's Sword at all costs, but Dean is convinced he doesn't need protection.





	1. The Delivery

The throne room throngs with angels. The din of voices and susurrus of wings makes it difficult to think, to stand at attention, but Castiel knows his duty. He is near the dais where Michael's new throne shines, and he stands with rigid shoulders, his wings pressed close to his back. The sparkling auras of so many angels collected together is nearly blinding, and the collective voices of so many angels gossiping in disjointed phrases instead of harmonizing together in song is nearly deafening. The host of Heaven has never been in such disarray, but Castiel keeps his chin high and his mouth shut, taking his duty seriously as usual.

Michael is late.

Much of the chatter around the room is relating to Michael being late, in fact. They are expecting an envoy from Hell, if rumors are true. The press of bodies and crush of wings indicates just how thrilling the prospect is. Everyone wants to be able to say they were there on the day an emissary from Hell entered Heaven.

Castiel has been here nearly the longest of anyone. He was stationed at this post when Michael was here this morning, when Michael plucked a soldier from Castiel's left right out of the parade lineup and took him out the side door. The rest of the troops had stood rigid for nearly five minutes after Michael and Risael had left the room, but then one of them whispered to another about whether or not it was true Michael liked to fuck the soldiers in his garrison. From then the whispers grew to relaxed postures and shivering wings as tension eased out of the room. After about an hour the soldiers began to trickle out.

"Are you coming, Castiel?"

"We have not been dismissed."

And so Castiel had stayed: rigid back, broad shoulders, and silent wings, until a new population had begun to refill the room.

His memory of the events of the day dissolves as the main door crashes open. Murmurs quiet a bit as necks crane to look down the carpeted aisle. Is it Michael at last?

It is not. The whispering takes on a frantic electricity. It is the ambassador from Hell. And following behind him on the end of a golden leash, is a man.

Castiel blinks furiously when he catches sight of the ambassador's charge. The man has the most brilliant soul Castiel has ever seen. His light puts many of the angels in the room to shame, Castiel included.

The ambassador reaches the dais and kicks the man to his knees. Kneeling there, the man looks around until the ambassador shoves his head down, too. Castiel doesn't like the demon's roughness. 

Mankind is God's favored creation, and he is not meant to be treated roughly by an abomination. Then Castiel bites his lip at his thought. It has recently become treason to consider God at all. 

"Where is Michael?" the demon asks.

It is Zachariah, Michael's advisor, who answers. "He is detained, Mr. Crowley."

"Detained? Did we not have a meeting scheduled? Did we not agree to an exchange of gifts and promises?"

Zachariah clears his throat in nervousness. "You did, sir, but nevertheless, Michael is detained."

Crowley looks around the room, unimpressed. Angels stare at him, similarly nonplussed. They had expected him to be a slathering beast with horns and tentacles. But he wears a human vessel and is small to them. The only difference between him and the man on the chain is Crowley's obvious lack of a soul. 

The man, on the other hand, gets a few interested looks and tilts of heads. He glows with an astounding beauty and is made finely by God's hand. Castiel can tell that his perfection makes some of the other angels uncomfortable. He is the embodiment of God's grace, a reminder that Michael is definitely NOT God, that perhaps in following Michael they are making an egregious error.

Crowley tosses the handle of the golden leash to Zachariah. "I do not have to stand for this insult. Have Michael seek me out when he has judged the quality of my gift. As swords go, I am told this is a fine one."

At that, Crowley exits the way he had come in, leaving Zachariah at the dais with the chained man.

The room grows loud again, and angels crowd in to peer at the creature on the leash. 

"Shouldn't you go and find him, Zachariah?" asks one of the older angels.

Zachariah looks panicked. Castiel knows this is a difficult prospect. If Zachariah interrupts Michael and Michael is displeased, he may smite Zachariah. However, if he delays finding Michael and Michael is displeased at the delay, he could smite Zachariah. The angel sighs, resigned.

He moves to exit by the door behind Castiel and passes off the handle of the leash to Castiel on his way past. "Take care of this thing, soldier," he says, and then he is gone.

Castiel examines the heavy gold handle in his hands and follows the chain to its end where it is attached to a collar around the man's neck. He half hears the murmurs around him as angels crowd in to see the man. "It is supposed to be Michael's sword? Where are its wings? Why does it shine?" Castiel, having been to Earth many times in his capacity with the garrison, knows the answers but does not speak them. Instead he watches the man wince when someone's wing reaches out and brushes against his chest.

Castiel takes a step toward the man and spreads his wings threateningly. Puffed up he growls, "Back off." This is his charge, and he would take it seriously. When several angels startle backward, Castiel is reminded that he cuts an impressive figure as a soldier. One of his lieutenants steps forward, "Go on, now." Another soldier joins in, pressing against the crowd, "You heard him. Clear out." 

Within minutes the room is clear.

"Sir, do you need us to--"

"No. No, it's fine. I'll take him to... somewhere. I'll take him somewhere."

Castiel tilts his head and watches the man as the room clears the rest of the way. 

"Are you alright?" he asks.

No answer.

"What is your human name, Michael's Sword?"

No answer.

Castiel reaches out, and the man flinches.

In that moment Castiel understands. Without a human vessel of his own, there is no way he can communicate with this man. With a sigh, he tugs the leash, telling the man to follow, and he leads this human gift from Hell out into the realms of Heaven.


	2. Introductions

The grass is soft, but as Castiel reaches out with his grace to feel as the man feels, he finds that Michael's Sword is not soothed by the soft grass or the mild breeze. 

Instead, the man's head throbs, and his ears ring. 

Castiel reaches out to heal him but hesitates. 

It is the true form and the true voices of the angels which have caused the human pain. 

Castiel glances around the garden, deems it safe enough to leave the man momentarily, and finds a soul who prays for an angel's grace. The soul that reaches out to Castiel will be his vessel. 

He disappears from Michael's Sword and reappears moments later in the flesh of a man.

"Human, awaken," he commands after healing his hurts.

The man's eyes open, and he squints in the dappled sunlight beneath the tree. He finds that his earlier blindness is healed and he looks around.

He notices a man standing very close with wide blue eyes and a befuddled expression.

"Dean?" the man says in a stoney voice.

"How-- How do you know my name?"

"You are afraid. You do not need to fear me, Dean."

"Don't tell me how I feel."

Castiel feels the man as he assesses himself. He looks internally for the hurts he had borne in Michael's throne room and finds they are all gone. He no longer feels the chafe of the collar or the burn in his eyes or the muddled ringing of deafness in his ears from the angels' true voices.

"You feel better," Castiel points out.

"Stop it. You're reading my mind or something. Stop doing that."

The man, despite feeling well, remains huddled on the grass.

"Why do you not stand, Dean?"

"In case you didn't notice, dude, I'm naked."

Castiel looks down at the human's form. It's true that it is free of clothing, but it is well made and pleasant to look at. "Yes, you are," he replies. Then he remembers human shame and looks at his own vessel. It wears a suit and a coat. Castiel removes the outer layer and hands it to Dean.

Once his nakedness is covered, Dean stands and faces Castiel. "What have you done to me?"

"I healed you."

"Where am I?"

Castiel looks around. It should be obvious, even to a human who has never been there. Castiel chose Eden because it is a hospitable environ for humans, unlike some parts of Heaven's firmament. "We are in the Garden," he informs Michael's Sword.

"Take me home," Dean demands.

Castiel is impressed by the human's bravado. To order around a being that could smite him with a breath is terrific. To actually expect Castiel to obey the order is hubris.

"You cannot command me, human."

Dean steps closer to Castiel. He is taller than Castiel's vessel by a measure, and he adopts a posture meant to intimidate. Dean reaches up under the collar of the coat and removes the gold chain from around his own throat. He drops the chain at Castiel's feet. 

"What do you plan to do with me, then?"

Castiel regards the chain. Michael's Sword belongs to Michael. Zachariah ordered Castiel to take charge of the man. Castiel has removed him from the source of his pain and healed his wounds, and now he should deliver him to Michael, but... 

...but Dean's soul burns so brightly, brighter even than many angels' grace. If Michael were to wield the sword, that soul would cease to glow, and such a loss would be an abomination to God.

Castiel bites his lip, adopting human gestures in his human form. It is blasphemy in Michael's New Regime to mention God. 

But Castiel loves his Father. "My Father loves you," he says.

"What? What does that mean?"

"You are my Father's greatest creation, and your soul burns so brightly, so beautifully. You are a joy to behold, Dean."

Dean's face pinkens, and Castiel notices the subtleties of that face: small freckles, greenish eyes, plush lips. It is a pleasing face, beautifully made.

"Stop staring at me, dude."

"Castiel."

"What?"

"My name. It is not 'Dude.' It is Castiel."

"And what kind of demon are you, Castiel? What kind of trick is this?"

"I am not a demon. I am an angel of the Lor-- of Michael, I mean. And you are Michael's Sword."

Dean steps back. "Angels now. I've been on the rack in Hell for thirty years until some two-bit crossroads demon abducts me and takes me to that shitshow that got me stuck with a friggin' ANGEL?"

"YOU are the human who has been tortured in Hell for thirty years?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

Castiel feels his knees grow weak. For decades this man was his mission. Before Michael's coup, Castiel and his garrison were devoted to finding and rescuing the Righteous Man from the Knights of Hell.

"You are the Righteous Man. I cannot let Michael have you," Castiel explains vaguely before reaching out to touch Dean's shoulder. 

Dean feels his stomach jerk out from under him as Castiel works some angel mojo and the landscape changes again. 

Suddenly the world looks familiar. Not the familiar red-black palette of Hell, but the familiar blue sky and brown dirt of Home. A sign behind Castiel reads "Timmy's Taco's" and Dean's stomach growls as he stands in an empty lot in a flasher coat with a goddamn friggin' angel in front of him.


	3. Reunion

Dean pulls the trenchcoat closer around himself and curses. "What the fuck, dude? I need clothes."

"Castiel."

Dean huffs in aggravation. "Fine. I need clothes, Castiel. Is that too much to ask?"

A truck goes by and Dean makes a poor attempt at making himself smaller behind the angel.

"It is not. Wait here."

The angel disappears. Just, poof. Disappears. Dean blinks and considers making a run for it, but he'd be picked up in a heartbeat, and Sammy--

His heart clenches when he thinks of Sam. It's been thirty years since Dean has seen his brother. Which makes him wonder... He looks around the town again to see what future cars look like and is disappointed to see they look exactly the same as cars looked when he died.

He died. He wonders if Sammy moved on like he was supposed to. If Bobby is still kicking. If Lisa...

No point in going there. 

As soon as he takes a step toward the taco place, the angel reappears with his arms full of clothes.

"These will fit you," he says.

Before Dean can ask how he's supposed to get dressed, the clothes are on him, underwear and all.

"Dude!" Dean cries in alarm. "You just dressed me. I'm not a two year old."

"I'm aware of your age, Dean, and my name is not Dude."

Dean sighs and runs a hand through his hair. After thirty years in Hell it hasn't changed, hasn't grown. He wonders at things like that sometimes.

"Come on, Cast-- Cas. We're getting tacos. I hope you have money."

Castiel pulls James Novak's wallet from his pants and hold up some twenty dollar bills for Dean to see.

"Perfect."

*

After tacos, which the angel said tasted like molecules, Dean wants to know what will happen next.

"All the host of Heaven will be searching for you, Dean." Castiel tilts his head in contemplation and then reaches out to touch Dean's chest.

"Ouch! What the fuck, du-- Cas?"

"I have made you invisible to angels."

"It feels like you carved up my ribcage."

"Yes."

Dean's eyes grow impossibly wide. "Then how can you see me?"

"I know you are here."

Dean sighs. Angels are weird. 

Dean would give anything for a cellphone right about now. He doesn't even know what state they're in, let alone what town. He wonders if Sammy stayed in Kansas. How will he find his brother? Well, he knows where Bobby is; Bobby never moves. Maybe it's best to start there.

"Can you take me to--"

Before Dean can finish the thought, his stomach has lurched again in a way that makes him wonder if he'll lose his tacos, and when he reaches out a steadying hand, he finds he is touching Bobby's door.

"What the fuck, Cas? I told you to stop reading my mind or whatever it is you're doing."

"Permanently?"

"Yes. For fuck's sake. Permanently."

When Bobby's door flies open, Dean and the angel are nearly nose to nose on the stoop, staring each other down like bitter rivals.

It is the sound of a shotgun cocking that alerts them to a third presence.

"What are you?" Bobby's gruff voice demands.

"It's me, Bobby."

"If it's you, you know I'll use this thing. Now answer me."

"I'm Dean, Bobby. It's me. I know I was dead, and I was in Hell because I traded my soul for Sam's life, but now I'm here again because of this angel, and it's a long story, so if you're going to shoot me just get it over with because this guy will heal me again."

The sound of the shotgun is deafening.


	4. Catching Up

Bobby and Dean both look on as Castiel regards his destroyed clothes. A thousand tiny tears riddle his ugly trench coat and suit jacket. Dean considers this might be a blessing, as they can get the angel into some normal clothes. Bobby, on the other hand, is dazed at the fact that the guy he just blew a few thousand holes through is still standing on his porch.

"Who are you?"

"It's me, Bobby. I'm back."

"Dean Winchester is dead and you're a demon scum wearing his face."

"Then why did you shoot him and not me?"

Bobby glances back to Castiel, who has somehow repaired his clothing, to Dean's chagrin.

"Let him in, Robert Singer. It is not safe for Dean to be out in the open. I will ward the house against angels," Castiel orders.

Dean pushes past Bobby, who chooses not to fire the other barrel of his shotgun.

"I thought I was already invisible to angels," Dean comments over his shoulder to the angel.

"Robert Singer is not. And he is known to be the Righteous Man's friend."

Castiel shuts the door on Dean and Bobby, closing himself outside the house to do his work.

Bobby looks Dean up and down. "It's really you?"

Dean grins. "It's me. You got a phone I can use? I want to call Sammy."

If Dean notices the way Bobby's eyes dart to the side he doesn't mention it. He just waits impatiently for the phone which he dials asa soon as it hits his palm.

He isn't expecting Bobby to take it back from him as it's still ringing. "Let me," he says.

"Sam? Can you come for a visit toute-suite? Yeah... I've got something here you're gonna wanna see... Not quick enough. This is one of those 'Drop Everything' cases.... Yeah, will do. I'll put a roast on."

Dean crowds in behind Bobby makes a futile grab at the phone. "A roast, Bobby? For me?"

"For Sam, you idjit. You'll be surprised. He's grown even bigger than when you left."

Dean pulls a beer from the fridge and drinks it down like water. It's so good. How many times on the rack had he wished for this? Just one cold beer--

He cuts that thought short and shoves it back. Turning his head he sees Castiel in the foyer staring at him. "I looked for you," he says.

Dean looks away. Bobby's on the other side of him. "For fuck's sake, will everyone quit staring at me? I'm back from the dead, not a celebrity."

"You're a goddamn sight for sore eyes, is what you are, boy."

Neither of them sees the way Castiel's eyes flash at the blasphemy.

"Bobby," Dean begins.

"What was it--"

"I'm not talking about it." Dean grabs another beer. It's cold against his fingertips. He never thought he'd feel that sensation again. He looks up and those blue eyes are still on him. "Cas, Jesus, stop staring. Did you do your warding or whatever?"

He looks down at his hands, the fingertips still red with Jimmy's blood. "I did."

Dean steps forward and takes Castiel's hand. For a moment, he stares at the blood, and he remembers.

The knife, the scalpel, the hook, the pick, the chain, the needles, the serrated edges...

"This blood," he begins, "we should."

Castiel is pliant under Dean's hand as the Righteous Man drags the angel to the sink in Bobby Singer's spartan kitchen and washes the blood away. The pink swirls down the drain on white suds.

"I could have--" Castiel begins.

Dean drops his hands. "I-- I'm sorry. You could have-- You could have just zapped them clean like your clothes, right?" Dean laughs, hysterically. "You didn't need--"

"Dean," Castiel watches the man's face in strained mirth. "You have been in Hell. I cannot know what that is like for a man."

"Don't," Dean snaps then looks up. Bobby sits a room away at his old desk. "I'm not talking about that, Cas. Not now, not ever."

"You will. But you won't tell me when you do." Cas looks toward the window. "I'll keep watch outside." And instead of using the door three feet away, the sound of wings rustle and the angel is gone.


	5. Some Confusion

When Sam arrives at Bobby's the household are all outdoors. Bobby's grill is smoking industriously and Dean is buried in the guts of an old Chevelle. Sam's car stirs up gravel and his hulking figure makes a beeline for the others.

Castiel is alarmed by the sharp movements and inserts himself between Dean and Sam. The light falls upon him in just such a way that as he puffs up in a replica of his true form, a shadow of his wings darkens the corners of Sam's field of vision.

"What the--" Sam is alarmed at this stranger from whom power ripples.

"Cas!" Dean calls out and his voice, a ghost from Sam's past draws his attention.

Sam pulls the knife and throws in one smooth move. It glides through the air with the hint of a whistle, sailing strait for Dean's heart.

The angel vanishes and reappears in the path of the sailing knife, and it sinks with a sickening thud into Castiel's meaty shoulder.

By then Sam has pulled his gun and is firing the first shots into Cas, as well, despite his dead brother's voice yelling out his name. "Sam, stop it!"

Dean drops his wrench and runs into the line of fire, distracting Castiel.

"Dean! No!" The bullet goes into his arm like a knife through hot butter. Castiel grabs Dean shoulder and flies them into the house.

Sam sees them vanish and then sees Bobby peek up from where he took cover behind his grill.

"You damn fool idjit!" he hollers, stalking forward.

"Bobby?" Sam swivels his aim toward the old man. "Is that you or a demon wearing your meatsuit?"

"It's me alright, son. Put the gun down."

Sam, breathing heavily, keeps the gun trained on his erstwhile father figure. "Why did you call me here? What kind of joke is this?"

"Do you see me laughing?"

"What kind of--" Sam falters. "What kind of creature was that, Bobby? What's wearing my brother?"

"It ain't no monster, boy. That's Dean."

A single tear escapes Sam's eye. "Dean is dead. My brother's dead."

"Not no more. He's back."

Sam sniffs. "And that other thing? That creature?"

"An angel." Bobby half laughs at the absurdity of what he is saying. "An angel from Heaven."

Sam's gun arm shakes. "Heaven?" His mind works furiously over this news. "Heaven? Dean was in Hell. He went to Hell."

"Well, he can tell you more about it, Sam. Put the gun down, boy."

He looks at the gun in his hand. "I shot him, Bobby. I shot Dean."

Bobby approaches and disarms Sam, putting the safety back on the gun and tucking it away in his vest.

"I shot my dead brother."

"Hush now." Bobby thumps the back of Sam's head. 

"They disappeared."

"They're probably right there inside the house. The angel has it all warded up."

"Warded? Against what?"

Bobby sighs and leads Sam up the steps to the front door. "Against other angels, apparently. Let him tell it. It's a long story."

As they mount the steps, Sam wipes his nose and takes a deep breath. It's surreal, he thinks: heading into this old, familiar house to meet a man he knows almost better than he knows himself, a man, however, who is dead, whom he has mourned, who is apparently in the middle of something larger than he can conceive of.


	6. What Men Eat

There is brisket. It is smokey and moist and falls apart on the fork.

Castiel eyes it with unguarded interest as Dean piles it onto his plate. "You want some?" he asks, intending to be friendly.

"It's not what angels eat," Castiel replies.

Sam's ears perk up. He's heard the whole story with a lot more background than even Dean had been privy to. The tale spilled over with intrigue and politics and probable shady dealings between Michael and Hell. The inconsequential demon in the mix, a crossroads demon named Crowley, was obviously making a power grab by playing heavenly delivery boy with Michael's Sword.

"What do angels eat, Castiel?" Sam asks, ever greedy for knowledge of the arcane.

Castiel startles. Dean hasn't figured out why Cas is so skittish around Sam, but he's definitely not imagining things.

"We rarely eat, but many have a predilection toward manna."

Dean folds a pile of brisket onto a slice of Bobby's homemade bread and covers it with gravy. "This is what men eat, Cas," he grins as he takes an indecent bite.

Castiel looks away but his eyes flit back to Dean's face in time to catch a cheeky wink.

"I know you boys are tirelessly fascinated by food, but let's focus for a moment," Bobby interjects. "If this Crowley fella is in league with Michael, what do they both have to gain? It seems to me that since Dean was taken to Hell on a crossroads deal to begin with, and they had been keen to get him, then Michael must really have something Crowley or Hell wants."

They exchanged looks, but all eyes quickly settled on Castiel. He was the angel with all the answers, after all. 

"I'm just a soldier," he says.

"Then tell me what that soldierly brain is thinking, Cas. I know you've got ideas," Dean urges.

The angel sighs. "Lucifer."

Sam speaks up this time. "Lucifer as in 'the Devil' Lucifer? as in Satan Lucifer?"

Cas eyes Sam warily. "Yes. Those are some of his many names."

"What can Michael and Crowley want with Lucifer?" Dean clarifies.

"They should both want to kill him," Castiel replies, "but then why the trade? Why the sword? Neither of them will want Lucifer to rise again to power in Hell because that would place Crowley's ambitions in jeopardy and would threaten Michael's rule in Heaven."

"How could Lucifer threaten an archangel like Michael?"

"Lucifer is an archangel, too. They are brothers and as ambitious as it seems for Michael to be ruling Heaven, you must know that Lucifer's ambition has always eclipsed everyone else's. Without God around what's to stop him from ruling Heaven as well as Hell?"

Bobby thinks aloud, "So Crowley and Michael team up to destroy Lucifer?"

"It would explain why Michael needs his Sword," Cas glances uneasily at Dean.

"So it's a good thing, right?" Dean asks. "Michael wields me to kill the Devil and the power vacuum in Hell goes to Crowley and everything remains in balance."

"But Dean," Sam is alarmed. "You'd die."

"Saving the world, though."

"But dead."

Dean shrugs. "I was already dead." He pushes away from the table and walks outside.

Sam gets up to follow, and Castiel stands immediately, "He should not be outside the wards."

Bobby puts a hand on the angel's shoulder. "Let Sam talk to him a minute. They'll come back in."

Cas is uneasy but allows it, staring toward the door like a dog watching for its master.

*

"Dean, we'll find another way."

Dean sighs and wishes he had had the presence of mind to bring his beer out with him.

"Sam, just leave it."

"I just got you back! I'm not going to let you throw your life away again!"

"It's not exactly throwing it away when it's killing Lucifer," Dean smirks.

"Don't. You don't get to do this, Dean. There's another way."

"Like what? What do we possibly have in our arsenal that can take on the Devil himself, Sam?"

"Me."


End file.
